


Owl Drink to That!

by sausaged



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Owls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sausaged/pseuds/sausaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows getting your first owl can be an absolutely world-changing experience. This cannot be truer when Draco Malfoy steps foot into Magical Menageries.</p><p> </p><p>written for the Draco Tops Harry Fest 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Owl Drink to That!

**Author's Note:**

> huuuge thanks to Resmiranda! i love love love you for betaing this on such a short notice and i’m very sorry!
> 
> any mistakes left over are all my own; all mine! and thank you to the amazing mod team at DTH for putting together such a wonderful fest and being so patient with me (again)!
> 
> i hope everyone will enjoy reading as much as i did writing it! (title of the fic comes from @birdpuns on twitter. :D)

When it comes to legal proceedings and things of the sort, Draco fully understands that there is a procedure that must be adhered to – an outline, per say – hoops that one must jump through in order to get things done.

But standing in front of Magical Menageries for the second time this month, he, Draco Malfoy, main prosecutor for the Magical Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry of Magic, is ready to pull his hair out.

Ha.

In his defence, no one had _told_ him that it would be so difficult to buy an owl. He’d assumed that it would be like buying any sort of worldly possession—fork over a few galleons and gallop off merrily into the sunset with his exciting new purchases that will collect dust on his shelf until the reading of his Will. The only problem he may encounter on a shopping spree, is what colour he should buy the trinkets in (the solution is: buy them all!) or if he really wants another pair of limited edition forest green silk boxers from Play Wizard. However, the real problem with Magical Menageries, is not choosing the bird itself (his current choice of partner is an eagle owl, a mighty regal beast, he is) but the procedures he must endure in order to obtain this new owl.

He restrains the absolute need to run his hands through his impeccable hair and settles for dusting off his immaculate robes instead, irritation pumping through his veins. He just wants a bloody owl to fly his mail, is that really too much to ask for? Ever since his bloody bird took off with another owl a few estates down the road, his paperwork has been piling up so high he can barely see past it. It doesn’t help that his house pigeons and carrier owls enjoy taking pit stops a little too much, making his mail consistently a day or two late. At this point _any_ owl would be sufficient.

Back to the problem.

This problem, at Magical Menageries, embodies itself in the form of the only employee available in the blasted shop because the previous owner fucked off to arsewipe nowhere and sold the shop to one of his year mates. Gryffindor, if he may add. Who in their right mind would even allow even more Gryffindors to open stores in Diagon Alley after that disastrous business, Weasley Wizard Wheezes, opened down the street? The Prophet talked about the Weasley shop for weeks, much to Draco’s dismay, when frequenters of Diagon Alley's hair turned various shades of colours.

Draco clicks the heels of his shoes against the cobblestone steps of the entranceway, lost in his own thoughts for a moment when—

“Oh! Malfoy!”

Draco raises his head and bites his cheek as the door swings open to reveal a man around his age, tastelessly garnished with wild black hair and impossible green eyes and—what the _fuck_ is he wearing??

He voices the question. “What are you _wearing_ , Potter?”

“Isn't it fantastic? Ernie picked it out for me.”

A fantastic apron covered in ugly cartoon mice and bugs running all over the fuchsia fabric, a colour that is very likely Dumbledore’s vomit after a night of hard drinking.

“That barn owl?”

“ _Ernie_.” Potter insists, reaching out and gripping onto Draco’s arm. “C’mon, you know Dinglebutt doesn’t like to wait.”

“Can you _please_ change his name? He’s an eagle owl, for Merlin’s sake! He’s more majestic than that!”

Potter closes the door behind them, sighing gently. “Malfoy, we’ve talked about this before. He chose his own name and he wants to be called Dinglebutt. This relationship is unfair as it is, you can at least give him that much.” Then, “If it bothers you that much, you can ask him if you can shorten his name to Dingle or maybe Butt. If you take him into your family, he might be a little more accepting to a name change, though.”

“No,” Draco mourns, hands scrubbing his face in resignation. “… Dinglebutt is good.”

Potter then smiles and turns on his heels, robes and ugly apron and all, sauntering down the dim hallway of Magical Menageries.

And as Potter leads him further into the shop (with something like a skip in his step), Draco continues to be amazed at the wizarding space in Magical Menageries. He quietly notes that the shop seems to have grown again since his last visit, now equipped with all sorts of growth and magical sunlight/moonlight cycling on the ceiling, all for the comfort of Potter’s little critter friends. While expanding wizarding space and maintaining permanent charms speak of Potter's underlying true and raw power, Potter’s always been a little nuts during school, and clearly Draco had underestimated his devotion to small things that cannot protect themselves.

Situated beyond the second door to the left, approximately thirty feet from the entrance, the owl section is by far the largest in the shop (“There is no favouritism,” Potter had said on his first visit. Draco deems it to be false). Beyond the elaborately decorated thick wooden door, he can smell the lush trees and dirt that lie past the thick door from about eight feet away, a heavy earthy smell that is not unwelcome in the bustling streets of a wizarding town. It must have been raining in there last night.

“It’s your second date with Dinglebutt today, isn’t it? Did you bring an Offering?” Potter is reaching into the pocket of his apron, pulling out his wand and tapping at the door ever so gently in order not to startle the owls inside.

It unlocks with a soft click.

Draco grumbles and grudgingly pulls out a juicy dead rat he’d purchased at Slug & Jigger’s Apothecary just moments ago. A rip off, Draco knows, for the ones in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor are much bigger and juicier than this for 10 sickles.

Potter approves with a small nod, “Oh, good. Even though it would’ve been better if it was fresh, I don’t think Dinglebutt will mind.”

Draco fixes Potter with a glare before flexing his fingers, joints cracking, all of a sudden a little nervous and worried if Dinglebutt would enjoy his Offering at all when the rats at the Manor are much bigger. He looks back over his shoulder where Potter’s head is bobbing with encouragement when Draco's fingers touch the cold brass of the doorknob. “… Well, here I go.”

“Be careful of your fingers and your tone, okay? I’ll be waiting at the Conversation Area and we can discuss your date for today. Then, only six more and you’re free to take him home with you!”

  


\---

  


“I am so fucking through with this. It’s almost like I’m marrying the bird or something!”

“He is your _responsibility_!” Potter stresses, the look on his face so indignant that it takes every ounce of Draco’s self-control to not punch Potter in the face.

“Look, Potter. I’ve put up with this long enough. Either you give me the bloody bird or I’m going to Knockturn Alley and getting myself an eagle.”

“They farm those eagles in the Underground Market!” Potter’s face is turning red now. In anger? Disbelief? Draco isn't too sure.

“I know.”

“It’s criminal!”

Not when you have money. “I _know_.”

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really didn't want to show you this." Potter pulls out his wand and Draco takes an involuntary step back. "You need to know the truth about those awful establishments that farm these vulnerable animals."

Draco feels his wrists being jerked and bound to the arms of a chair as he eases into the plush cushioning. "Potter, what—?"

"It's an enlightening document called _Owls: Flight or Flight_ , directed by the Wizards and Witches for the Ethical Treatment of Magical Creatures. You'll thank me later."

"Wait— Don’t you mean fight or flight?"

Potter snorts. “What fight? They don’t even get a chance to.”

A gut retching feeling pulls at his stomach before Potter's projected thoughts slam into his mind like a Muggle fire engine racing towards a fire.

  


\---

  


“This doesn’t have AFC in it, does it?” Potter inquires so politely for the sixteenth time that the waitress is really doing her best to hold the tick from her forehead.

“No, sir. It doesn’t.”

Draco looks on, smoothing back a strand of blond hair while listening to Hedwig and Dinglebutt hoot quietly on a pedestal next to their table.

“I’ll take that, then. And it should be good— thank you.”

The waitress leaves with a wash of relief splashing across her features. In another moment, she disappears around the corner and Draco takes his time to lean forward. “AFC?”

“Artificial calcium,” Potter says, pouring his fresh glass of water into a small pan for their owls. “Does wonder for their bones but is crap for their joints.”

“And MMI?”

“Magically modified ingredients— Malfoy, I thought they talked about this in that documentary I showed you last time.” Potter narrows his eyes. "Was it not enough?"

“They did!” Draco begins defensively, hands raised in immediate surrender. "It was just... a lot of information..." He trails off, a chill racing up his spine. The desperate cries of the birds as they were force fed with all sorts of potions, so they will stay strong and healthy in order to deliver packages and to breed, had still been ringing in his head three days after the film. “And all the food and places you’ve recommended never had any of them so I just forget to ask from time to time…”

Potter huffs, somewhat satisfied by his answer. His green eyes soften as he reaches over to scratch Dinglebutt on the chin. “It is the first time I’m trying out this restaurant and it should be all right… but you must remember that he is going to be your partner— your companion. If you don’t take good care of him, _no one_ is going to do it for you... even if you make an idiot of yourself by asking ridiculous questions for the well-being of your other half. Maintaining a healthy diet for them is part of your responsibility— MMI and AFC free options are everywhere if you look properly.”

Draco opens his mouth.

“No, not even your house-elves. If you want this to be a long-lasting and fruitful relationship, you’ve got to do it yourself. It’s a two-way street; you can’t expect Dinglebutt to be around for you when you can’t even feed him the best and care for him. He’ll drop your mail and run off with a sneaky owltress and they’re going to have a whole nest of hatchlings and… well, you’re back at square one.”

Draco nods because he completely understands and is definitely not sort of lost in Potter’s passionate lecture (and the way his eyes sparkle whenever they talk about this subject) and when did Potter grab his hands?

They spend the rest of the evening in relative peace and Draco shocks himself when he notices how much he is enjoying himself in the company of Potter. Aside from the whole protecting the vulnerable thing, he’s not so bad of a guy, really. They talk about Quidditch and cooking and school. Potter then confesses quietly that he is a professional Owl Whisperer and prefers the Owlery than a common room filled with overly courageous magical folk who do stupid things in the name of bravery (he’s seen enough of make-believe from Dudley). Draco, in turn, shares the fact that his father had once cried and locked himself in the bedroom for three days after his owl died, grieving to the point that his mother just about broke down the door in worry (jealousy, really). He told the story in hopes that it would be entertaining, but Potter looks at Draco with eyes dark with sympathy and Draco nervously bites the inside of his cheek instead.

He learns that Potter’s favourite dessert is treacle tart. It’s the only thing Potter doesn’t mind having MMI in.

And he also learns that he might be enjoying Potter’s presence more than Dinglebutt’s.

Potter smiles brightly at him as their MMI-free desserts slide onto the table and Draco feels his heart skipping a beat.

  


\---

  


"I still can't believe that they used to force owls to breed just because we had to supply our growing population with enough carriers. And owl fighting should have never been a real thing either."

Potter grins and it's bright like the Sun. "You've been watching more documentaries, I see."

On the window sill, Dinglebutt perches and stares.

Of all the countless nicks he’s received from Dinglebutt, this one is, by far, the deepest and largest cut. In his hasty appearance to snatch the Offering from Draco, Dinglebutt’s sharp beak had grazed him—a normal occurrence since the first day he’s met the owl, but unfortunately not a case big enough to tell his father about. Potter dresses Draco's wound with a flick of his wand and Draco watches Potter chirp to Dinglebutt out of the corner of his eye rather conversationally.

And as if Dinglebutt understands what Potter is trying to convey, he puffs his chest out rather regally, and offers a talon for Draco to shake. _I'm sorry._

 _It's okay._ Draco takes the talon and gives it a quick shake, fingers lingering on the sharp claws for a moment before letting go.

“Now, I’ve reserved a spot for you at the Merriford-Poodle Spa today. It comes with a wing massage and a feathicure along with a wicked live buffet—“

Oh, he's heard about that before.

“— and a movie about a Japanese dog named Hachiko dubbed by the owls from Featherexpress. Of course, there are English subtitles for us humans…”

“Potter, you said… a live buffet…?” Dinglebutt would like that for sure.

“Yes. Yes, I did. You didn’t think I’d send you to a place where Dinglebutt would be eating _kibble_ ,” Potter spits that word out like an owl regurgitating a pellet, “did you?”

Taking a deep breath before exhaling slowly, Draco shakes his head, smiling as he drums his fingers on the table. Potter continues to rattle on and Dinglebutt ever so entranced at Potter’s excited babble, not once sparing a look in Draco’s direction.

You’d think the bird’s got a thing for Potter or something.

Draco feels a tinge in his chest and he isn't too sure why.

  


\---

  


Two nights after the sixth date, Draco Malfoy finds himself at a bar with fellow co-worker Hermione Granger, each sipping on their respective alcoholic beverages without an ounce of animosity between them since the day of their graduation from Hogwarts. They’d been academic rivals, much like how Potter had been his athletic rival and how Weasley… there was no rivalry with Weasley. Sorry, not sorry.

“So… how is the bird hunting?”

“Fine,” Draco says, his voice clipped and full of emotions that cannot be expressed in words.

“You know, you don’t have to put up with it if you hate it so much. After all, you can just get a bird from somewhere else.”

“You know, Granger, I thought you would be jumping on the table and advocating for more shops to be like Magical Menageries. Besides, Potter is making it more bearable-- he's really concerned about Dinglebutt's and my well-being.”

“Well, Malfoy,” Granger takes a sip of her Blossom Wine carefully, brushing a lock of bushy hair over her shoulder before planting a pointed look on Draco. “It’s very sweet for Harry to make sure his friends aren’t going into the wrong hands, but eight dates… that's more than enough. It’s been almost a whole month since this ordeal started, and I can’t stand your paperwork piling up any longer.”

Draco cradles his Thundergin with a sigh. “The paperwork isn't so bad-- it's only a little late because the Ministry owls are just a little overworked. Potter says they can do with better living quarters to stretch their wings... and I sort of agree. The bastards at the Owlery didn't think so though, so wait until I tell my father about this and I'll show those inhumane owl abusers." He falls silent for a moment, taking a tentative sip of his drink, eyes glazing over just slightly. "But I just… you know? I just wish Dinglebutt would look at me more often. Potter says that extremely compatible partners don’t usually end up using all eight days. I want it to click so _bad_.”

“… Malfoy, are you listening to yourself?”

“I get a little emotional when I’m tipsy, okay? And Potter says it's natural to become emotional when I'm starting to form a Deep Bond with Dinglebutt. That means we're becoming more like partners than friends.”

"Is it contagious?"

Draco frowns. "I don't think so," he begins seriously, pulling at a stray strand of blond hair absently. "It might be hereditary though. I heard from Mother that Father had locked himself up in his room for three whole days when his owl passed away in a freak accident. He's never been the same after..." Wait. Did he tell this story before? And are those tears gathering in his eyes? Draco rubs his eyes. Nope. “Either or, I just want him to like me and then we can move in together and start a new chapter in our life. Him, catching mice and delivering mail... me, doing my job at the ministry and maybe checking in with Potter here and there about Dinglebutt and then catching dinner together... I don’t know what I’m going to do after putting so much effort into him and he’s just—“

“Not grateful?” Granger sets her glass down, brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, we’re talking about Dinglebutt, right?”

“He’s always looking at _Potter_ ,” Draco whispers on, distressed and anxious. “I’m afraid that when I bring him home, he’s gonna be upset because Potter isn’t around. Then he won't be happy and I might have to return him and then Potter's going to give me a hard time— what am I going to do? I’ve invested too much feeling in Dinglebutt to let go... I doubt Potter will let me near him and Dinglebutt again!” He wobbles to his feet dramatically, stool scraping against the wooden floor with an eerie creak. "I have to go home. What if they set alarm spells all over me and notice that I'm always home late?" Draco's voice drops to a small hiss. "What if they think I'm _cheating_ on Dinglebutt? Potter would be so upset and he wouldn't want to see me ever again." By now, his voice must've raised several notches to turn so many heads. But in the midst of his ramblings, his hazy mind supplies many dashing comments to Draco's bleary consciousness with a dash of drunken pride, many of those compliments something related to Potter for some odd reason. "Um, did that sound too selfish?"

"Wait, wait. Let's clear this up first. How do you feel about Dinglebutt?"

"A majestic and wonderful eagle owl. My compatibility with him doesn't seem so bad. Oh, and—"

"That's enough." Granger pulls Draco back into the chair gently. "How about... Harry?"

"A knowledgeable sales clerk with a beautiful smile and a heart as wide as the sky for all sorts of little animals."

"Would you kiss Dinglebutt?"

"Not after a fresh catch, but yes."

"Would you... kiss _Harry_?"

"Well, I don't see why not." Draco huffs, pouting. "Where is this going?"

"How about me?"

"Oh god, no." The answer comes so fast that Granger narrows her eyes, lips parting as Draco is backpedalling his sluggish mind. "Well, I mean if you were a little more feathery... or if your eyes were greener, it'd be okay. You're just not really my type. No offense, Granger."

She sighs in resignation. “You’ve always been bad at noticing stuff like this.” He watches her watch him with a strange expression on her face and vaguely registers a thoughtful hum from her as he takes another sip of his Thundergin. "Actually, why don’t you…" She trails off before shaking herself. "Why don't you try to get on with Harry too, then? Won’t it make Dinglebutt happy too?”

The woman's a genius. He really might've kissed her – really – if she had greener eyes and a pair of wings with an acquired a taste for Malfoy Manor rats.

  


\---

  


"I know it's not a date night but I think that we should have dinner together again."

For some reason, Potter looks ecstatic.

"With the owls too, of course," Draco adds, smiling as well. That's probably why Potter looks so excited, as expected of the Owl Whisperer.

Potter's glowing expression dims exceptionally as he begins to stare at Draco long and hard before nodding slowly. "Are you paying?"

Draco stares back, tilting his head to the side curiously. "Well... sure."

"Great. I know an owl friendly place."

"Oh, that's good. I hope they don't have... What did you say last time? MIO? KFC?" Draco swears he's dutifully reviewed the documentary and even did supplementary readings, although the jargon is awfully difficult to decipher.

"MMI and AFC: magically modified ingredients and artificial calcium. I'm glad you remembered. This restaurant is as humane as it can be." Potter tickles Dinglebutt's chin, kissing the bird on the beak.

"I read an article recently about MEF, too. Magically enhanced flavours? I can't believe they even put that shit into kibble! As if the owls don't have a hard enough time chewing on that crap."

Potter nods, weirdly silent. "I'll bring Hedwig down as soon as I make a reservation."

  


\---

  


Draco makes it his policy to know Ministry gossip like the back of his hand. A hobby, you may call it, a form of entertainment to make up for the hours and hours of quill pushing he does for Wizarding Britain. So when heated mumbles got past Granger's unwarded door (pfft, how was she even his rival in school?), he couldn't help but to inch a little closer.

"Damn it, Harry. You can't just play with him like that."

"I didn't think he'd take it so seriously!"

"The whole time we were at the bar, all he could talk about was all that bullshit you've been feeding him. He's seriously worried that the bird will not want to be around him if you aren't. How could you?"

Draco presses his ear against the heavy wooden door as a frustrated sigh slips through.

"It's not bullshit!" A beat of silence. "Oh well, okay. I might have exaggerated a few things... and maybe that little bit about Dinglebutt's name, too. But magically modified ingredients, artificial calcium and magically enhanced flavours are all real things that are not good for our bodies and you know it!"

Draco can taste Granger's displeasure as it is as permeable as the glare he's seen used on Weasley when he had sent Granger a batch of flowers that exploded into frogs last April Fools.

The next words are small.

"I just wanna keep seeing him. He's a pretty interesting guy once you move beyond topics like fashion and stuff. He's sorta good looking too, isn't he?"

 _Sorta_? What the fuck—

"Harry." A hint of a warning. "Can you please just talk to him? If you like him so much, imagine how he'd react if he finds out you've been playing him just so he'd stick around. He's a real pain in the ass when he's moody."

The taste of Granger's displeasure morphs into a bitter bite on his tongue. Yeah, imagine how he'd react... And just for the record, he's not _moody_ either.

  


\---

  


Another week’s passed by the time Draco finds himself on the steps of Magical Menageries again, a plan in his head and a smirk on his lips. He was unable to shake himself of an awkward feeling since eavesdropping on the conversation outside of Granger's office. A diligent witch like her wouldn't just leave her door unguarded when she works right beside the Ministry gossip. He frowns, not too full of himself just yet to think that she had done it on purpose.

But if it is the case (that she did it on purpose), then...

But if it _isn't_ the case, it's not too late yet to find a hole and hide there for eternity.

Draco reaches up to the door, pushing it open before closing it behind him, "Potter, I'm here!"

There Potter is, standing behind the reception counter in all his unruly glory, unknowing to Draco's Devious Plan. "Oh, welcome, Malfoy! Ready for your last date? Dinglebutt seems pretty excited to go home with you tonight." 

“Ah… I see.”

“Is there something wrong?” Potter pushes up his glasses, absently blowing away a stray feather that’s been resting on his nose.

Here it is-- his chance.

"Oh, nothing." Draco sighs as dramatically as he could, dropping himself in an overstuffed leather chair resting in the Reception Area. "I just... oh, never mind."

Potter is frowning now, carefully approaching Draco as if he is a skittish animal. "Are you sure?"

And because Draco is the sort of person to become overconfident with such a small victory (even if he couldn't make assumptions about the motives of another person), he puts on a small smirk before shoving his hands into his pockets and tilting his head at Potter. “Well, I was giving some thought about Dinglebutt's name...”

"... Yes?" Potter urges, fingers rubbing at the edge of his ugly apron, decked in howling werewolves dashing across the rocky landscape of neon pink frills. Ernie had probably picked out today's outfit again.

"I've decided to dedicate myself to Dinglebutt and wed him into my family," Draco announces with vigour. From his pocket, he withdraws a small silver manacle decorated in extravagant jewels. "He may keep the name Dinglebutt, if he so wishes, and I will make sure that he is cared for... for the rest of his life."

Green eyes go incredibly wide— so wide that Draco thinks they might fall out of his eyes at any moment now. He can see the gears in Potter's mind begin to churn, knocking off the decade of rust that's been building on. Ha. See how you like that. "Wait. Malfoy, I—"

"Even though I may not be home during the day, he will have the house elves and the Manor rats to keep him company. He's also free to fly anywhere he wants within my family's properties, if he wishes to travel with me. I've also decided that our honeymoon would be in Norway. My father's taken his owl there for their anniversary before, too. He had nothing but praises to sing for that place."

"Just give me a minute, you can't—"

"Father was surprisingly supportive in my decision to wed my companion, seeing how he will be dedicated to me and my mail for the rest of his life. He may, if he wants, take an owltress as his concubine and produce heirs, too. I've drawn up the contract already-- bet you forgot I'm a fully-capable lawyer in all that owl match-making, huh?" Draco grins, smoothing his blond hair back with a grin. "So don't worry, Potter. Dinglebutt Malfoy will be perfectly fine and content with me. He will never grow hungry or be poor and he'd never have to handle packages that are too large-- like that broomstick Hedwig carried during your third year at Hogwarts. So... I'd like to have your blessings for your owl's talon in marriage."

After a few minutes, Draco wonders if he's overdone it. Potter is so still; quiet and pale, eyes glassy like a billion thoughts are racing through his mind. And since Draco is ever such a considerate human being, he begins to feel a little guilt nudging at his conscious with ice cold feet.

"I... I would love to if you are absolutely serious about it," Potter says slowly, eyes cast downwards and posture stiff. There is a hint of remorse in his voice as well, right in the lilt of his L's. "But before that, there's something I need to tell you."

Draco hums, already knowing what Potter would say, and already feeling a lot less humiliated than he would've been if he had not known in the first place.

"I haven't been quite... Reasonable with you at all." Potter swallows loudly and the tension within the shop raises a few notches. "We usually only provide two meetings between owl and human for a potential buyer."

"Not eight?"

Potter shakes his head. "No, not eight. And also, those dates I've assigned you MAY have been optional."

"... what do you mean?" Draco almost folds himself in laughter before reminding himself with a pinch on his thigh.

"Usually you just take them out to the park and call their names— see if they will fly back to you. Sort of like how Ollivander lets you touch the wands, you see."

"No, I don't see." Draco does his best to steel his voice and press his lips tightly together, hoping he looks as annoyed as he'd imagined. "Are you saying that it's been a fraud up until now? Have you been playing with my feelings for Dinglebutt just because? Time and time again, I've proven to be a perfectly capable husband for Dinglebutt by providing him with meals and velvet covers on his pedestals. And despite my initial hesitation, I overcame my outlandish thoughts for the sake of my partner... You're telling me it's all for naught?"

Potter shrinks in on himself, nodding with a squeak. "... yes."

"... Whatever for, Potter? When I finally thought I could be happy—"

"Because I enjoyed spending time with you!" Potter blurts, an answer that Draco has been expecting but nevertheless is surprising to hear from Potter directly. "I didn't realize how... UGH. A... A-attractive you were... are... is... something. Until you came into my shop one day, looking for an owl."

Draco raises an eyebrow when Potter's wet eyes rise to lock with his.

Aw, _shit_. Come on, come on. Don't cry, don't cry.

"And I thought... maybe I can get to know you better or something. Keep you coming. Oh, I don't know. Make something up, anything."

"Potter—"

"I just. I just wanted to talk to you. You've always been sort of there during school, you know? The Quidditch Cup and everything and just."

"Potter!" Potter jerks, chest heaving. "I know already. I overheard your conversation with Granger about a week or so ago."

Silence.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Draco thinks he can probably slice the awkwardness with a quick flick of his wand.

"I'm sorry," Potter says, voice hushed. "I should've been a little more... courageous. But I'm sort of shit at being brave other than trying to save little animals."

Draco snorts in return. "You were plenty brave trying to talk to that snake in second year."

"You remember?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Potter scruffs the toe of his shoe against the floorboards. "So... you're not angry."

"I am _very_ angry, actually." Potter has the decency to flinch and Draco takes pity on his misery. "There can be a way for you to compensate me though."

Potter angles his head slightly, blinking at Draco.

"I really think that Dinglebutt's going to flip shit if he doesn't get to see you ever again. ... So, how about Tuesday nights?"

"... huh?"

"A _date_ , Potter. Weekly ones without the owls and no bullshit about MMO's, KFC's or MAC's. And no more ethical treatment documentaries."

"It's MMI's, AFC's, and MEF's," Potter quips, eyes darting from Draco to the floor quickly. "But yeah, those documentaries might have been a little... overdone."

"Whatever." Silence again, but definitely less awkward than before. "I promise I'll treat him properly, so can I finally take him home?"

"Oh! Right! Yeah, you definitely can. And about his name--"

"I've grown attached to Dinglebutt. He doesn't seem to mind it either.”

A few moments later, Draco is walking towards the door of Magical Menageries with a heavy cage lined with velvet and, finally, a familiar who will be dedicated to his mail for as long as he lives.

"See you on Tuesday, Potter."

He turns and is graced with an image of Potter sporting a pink blush that humbly dusts his cheeks and an embarrassed grin hanging crookedly on twitchy lips. "I know an owl-friendly place if you ever change your mind."

“Don’t count on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> If so inclined, leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/296808.html). Comments are ♥


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